Another new year came. The masquerade ball was more subdued compared to previous years, in honor of Piangi's passing and the apparent death or final disappearance of the opera ghost.
Meg and Justine were ecstatic, however; as a late Christmas present (or more appropriately, a publicity stunt to make the event more festive), the managers announced that Meg would star in the next production of Gisele and Justine as Madame de Lafayette in the Populaire's first opera since Don Juan Triumphant.
Meg, dressed as some odd mix between a bird and a princess, and Justine, dressed as the queen of the night, were underneath young giddy girls as they inelegantly jumped up and down shrieking, holding each other's hands.
The two performed their roles on alternating nights. They saw more of each other this way, and their friendship deepened. When they were not rehearsing, they helped Cecile prepare for her wedding to Adele's brother Michel.
Meg had very few free moments now. Gisele proved just as popular as La Belle et La Bete, and Meg's fame only grew.
A substantial pay raise soon followed. A month after, Meg approached her mother, stars dancing in her eyes.
"I've been speaking with David Perrin. His brother-in-law's in real estate. He's found us our own little house in the center of Paris!"
Madame Giry paled slightly. "Meg…."
Her daughter wouldn't let her finish, clutching her hands. "Mother, don't stop me. We can afford it now. Our own home!"
At her mother's sad look, Meg hurried to reassure her. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that! Our quarters here have indeed been my home, my true home! But…I just…."
Madame Giry looked at her daughter's eager, earnest face and understood. And she could deny her Meg nothing.
Their new home was small and neat, but fashionable. Most importantly to Meg, they were close to a grate that led to the sewers. It did not smell too terrible to go under, and it was a way Erik could still come and see them….
Erik who grew quiet and melancholy at the mention of their moving.
That was not the only worry Meg had.
With her growing popularity in society, the secret police focused on her all the more.
Meg was conflicted. Although part of her had naively hoped that her first success was enough to pay Erik and the Girys' combined debt to society, another part of her was excited the police still wanted her prepped for future assignments.
They glommed onto her growing fame. To them, her popularity potentially opened up future avenues in society if they needed an extra pair of eyes.
However, there was one improvement Meg needed to make: her fashion sense.
Thus, the police sent her Valérie Li.
Like Meg, Valérie came from mixed parentage: her father, a Chinese diplomat, and her mother, the French daughter of the ambassador receiving the diplomat, caused quite the scandal when they eloped. She grew up in Switzerland, a bright student who learned from her parents' knees how to navigate societies in different cultures.
She was a Renaissance woman through and through: acting, singing, archery, fencing, and most of all, fashion. She opened up the most popular boutique in Paris – which also served as a front for Darius and his men.
Despite the risk, Meg convinced the police to allow Valérie's first visit to coincide with Cecile, Adele, and Justine gathering at the Giry house to go over potential wedding dress designs. "She can help us design Cecile's gown!"
With a collective groan, the crew at headquarters at last relented.
It was with a faintly skipping heart Meg hurried to answer the door the morning of Valérie's appointment. Behind her, even her friends self-consciously smoothed their skirts.
Meg opened the door to a radiant Valérie dressed in magenta silk. She curtseyed like a queen, but with a friendly sardonic smirk that made her charmingly casual. "You've grown, my little Giry!" Valérie chuckled, taking her in.
Meg blushed scarlet, pleased.
Now thirty-two, Valérie Li remained the most beautiful woman Meg had ever seen since the spy sang briefly on the Paris Opera stage as a contralto seven years before. She had thick chestnut hair and a beautiful direct gaze, with high cheekbones and full lips. Meg wondered briefly why Erik had never fallen for her – then realized there was nothing naïve or vulnerable about Valérie's striking beauty, her direct teal eyes and steady expression. The moment you saw her, you felt her self-sufficiency, her easy independence.
Thus, there was no way the Angel could get inside her mind.
Meg wondered what that said about Erik. Did he not value independent women…? Not that Christine wasn't independent. But she'd been so vulnerable then!
She shook away the thought and welcomed Valérie inside.
"You remember Cecile Jammes, Adele Segal, and Justine Laurent?"
Valérie inclined her head regally to each girl. She smiled especially at Cecile. "Is this our blushing bride?"
Adele kicked gently at Cecile's ankle, giggling. "I am," Cecile said happily, elbowing Adele.
Cecile and Michel's courtship had been a whirlwind one, but grounded by genuine respect and love. Her earnestly sweet and ladylike demeanor proved a wonderful complement to Michel Segal, who shared his sister's clownish and frivolous side, with an added flourish of passion.
Cecile was supremely happy with her decision, much as she teased her intended.
Valérie was the type of woman to get right down to business. She hadn't even finished removing her gloves when she said, "Show me the samples you've brought. I'll see what we can come up with."
"Well, I can't decide between the lace collar and the silk," Cecile began, tentatively showing her the scraps of material she'd brought with her.
As Valérie busied herself studying them and Cecile and Adele leaned closer to get a better look, Justine edged toward Meg and whispered.
"How times have changed! A year ago, could you imagine our group of sundry chorus dancers and singers gathered in a fashionable spot in Paris with the queen of boutiques at our attendance?"
Meg shook her head, grinning widely. "Isn't it marvelous?" Her green-gray eyes flashed. What good was success if you didn't enjoy it? She squeezed Justine's hand.
Meanwhile, the soprano tried to keep the mist out of her eyes as she watched pretty young Cecile prepare for her wedding.
No, this would never be for Justine, she told herself. But that didn't mean she had to be jealous or put out by the fact.
She enjoyed her friendship with the dancers and she loved her work. She was relieved the positive notes she received as Adrienne mostly ignored her weight.
Yet still she pined for more, and she resented herself for pining.
At last the hour came when Cecile had to leave to meet potential florists. "Are you sure you can't come, Meg?"
"Unfortunately not. I'm afraid I double-booked myself. Mademoiselle Li is going to help improve my own middling fashion tastes."
Kissing each girl on the cheek goodbye, Meg closed the door on them and drawing a breath, turned around.
She was relieved Valérie still looked at her with light-hearted fondness. Her easy friendliness was luckily not some front she put on for civilians. She laughed good-naturedly at the young dancer.
"My dear, I've been thinking about you ever since the papers published that picture spread of you from La Belle et La Bete. I think a modified look of what you wore there – romantic, classic, yet youthfully feminine – is in order."
Her eyebrows raised expectantly as a carriage arrived outside. "Ah! Here are some of my selections now. Let's see what you think, eh?"
A bit flummoxed, Meg answered the door to Darius, who wore a bemused smirk on his face. "Compliments of the force, young lady."
Pushing past him were three young ladies carrying heap upon heap of skirts, wigs, and dress samples.
Meg swallowed her excited smile. All trace of nerves and embarrassment vanished, and in their place was now a giddy anticipation.
Pink! She still saw pink in those swatches….
Still, she was not so taken up with the various fabrics parading by that the keen girl did not notice the flirtatious bounce to Valérie's movements as she sashayed up to the quietly observing Darius.
"My good Monsieur Shahzad. You are looking austere as always." Her eyes sparkled.
Meg almost giggled. Was that a…blush that crossed Darius's vaguely annoyed face?
He cleared his throat. "And you just as lovely but intrusive."
Instead of taking offense, Valerie laughed heartily, a charmingly ungraceful sound that contrasted prettily with her refined beauty. "One of these days, monsieur. One of these days I'll see you crack a true smile."
She gently touched his shoulder.
She floated away and resumed assisting her dressers as Meg had to hold back another burst of delighted laughter: Darius was practically gaping!
These two must have some sort of history.
As always, Meg's heart pounded with the idea of witnessing another great romance.
Valérie, however, was despite her carefree demeanor a strict taskmaster. She quickly immersed the dancer in a world of silk, taffeta, and hairpins.
From that day forward, Meg wore a greatly revised wardrobe. Not only did she appear in artistic columns and theatrical reviews, but in fashion notices as well.
Nothing before had ever so shocked her mother and the opera ghost.
Erik had always scoffed at the little Giry's fashion sense, at the surplus flounces of brightly colored ribbons, the childlike, coquettish pinks and frills, at the way the full skirts threatened to swallow her whole. He privately compared her flamboyant get-up to the sedate, modest blues and grays Christine had worn in her casual wear, the muted patterns still rich with satin, signifying she was of good class—but not giddy-headed enough to flaunt it.
Yet Meg could not be shamed. She liked pink, she liked detailed patterns of teacup flowers, polka dots, and brocaded ribbon on the hem. Other than her dancer-like movements offstage even, there was no evidence needed of her theatrical upbringing than her instinctive comfort in dresses that came nearer to ballet costumes than a simple house dress. Eventually Valérie succeeded in shortening her skirts to an appropriate length for her petite height, which inadvertently increased the resemblance to her costumes in such pieces as Il Muto or La Belle et La Bete.
Still, drastic improvements were made. Valerie suggested she stop curling her hair quite so tightly at night. Unlike Christine's hair, Meg's was not a natural nest of curls. Her hair was naturally more wavy, curling mostly at the ends. Valerie urged her to emphasize the waves rather than the curls.
This smoother, wavier look, often tied in a loose bun at the nape of Meg's neck, was quickly copied by girls around Paris. In point of fact, its unofficial name became "La Petite Giry" – a phrase uttered commonly in hair salons by teenage girls.
Meg would giggle and say it was all very silly, yet on one of Erik's visits he noticed the girl preening in the drawing room. There was a look of vain satisfaction on her face so lacking in meanness or ego that he couldn't help but smile wistfully at her pleasure.
Erik felt both despair and relief when he learned Meg and her mother were moving out of the opera house. On the one hand, he felt a strange panic at the thought of her away from where he could keep an eye on her, watch from the rafters.
On the other, maybe now he could unlearn the crushing affection and desire he felt every time her strawberry blonde mane and quick steps alerted him to her presence.
Yet Meg, the little nit, would not let him be.
Not a full day had passed after she moved when he found an envelope in Box Five for him. Inside was an invitation to a private housewarming dinner.
He damned his weakness. He attended.
Now every week there was an envelope.
And every week he attended, emerging from the tunnels underground, like a dark Mephistopheles rising from the depths.
Like his earlier calls at their flat, he first tried to play his visits off as inquiries as to whether or not the police had any more work for them (their silence did fill him with unease – he knew, deep down, that they were not content to allow a murderer to lurk indefinitely in the cellars beneath the opera house without putting him to work).
But also like his visits before, eventually he ceased providing excuses and simply slunk in, as if guilty of another crime, darker even than murder.
He avoided Anahid's heavy gaze. He lost himself in Meg's innocent chatter.
One day he attended a brunch Meg put on just for him and her mother.
His heart couldn't help tug watching her neatly play hostess. She prattled on, gracefully plopping sugar cubes in cups with the sincere excitement of a little girl playing tea party.
If she could only stay this way forever…ah, I could die happy.
But the dark cloud of the police, of the demands of fame hovered over this sunny image in Erik's mind.
However, looking into her hard bright eyes, he felt reassured. There in her eyes was everything intractable within her: self-possession, fairness, common sense. Sanity.
Still his heart jumped when their maid came in with a letter for Miss Giry, and he saw her face tighten up like a flower closing in at night.
Something in the address made her excited or agitated, he couldn't tell.
Madame Giry had spied the seal and swiftly asked Erik his opinion of the ballet's current choreography.
Erik answered her smoothly, but his eyes kept roving back to Meg.
He couldn't read her as she took in the letter.
Was it from Marcus?
The agent still frequented the house, this Erik knew. The man had a darker, more melancholy look about him these days, which comforted Erik. She at least still hadn't said yes, obviously. But his apparent consternation was evidence he still sought her hand. No man would look so strained without a burning affection beneath.
What would come of this galling and unpleasant situation? This question often kept Erik awake at night.
At last she put the letter aside, hiding the envelope, and faced Erik with a renewed brightness in her expression. "What was that you were saying? You think the chorus enters too fast in Act III?"
No more was said of the note. Erik tried to make himself forget it.
Yet he couldn't stop himself from suspecting the contents of the letter three days later as he stood dumb in the Girys' entryway.
She was leaving on vacation. By herself. For an unknown amount of time.
He hissed at Anahid as Meg made sure she had everything she needed in the few bags she was taking. "What is it? Another assignment?"
"Erik" –
"Why aren't I involved? Who's going to look after her?"
"How do you even know it's another assignment? I haven't said that. Meg hasn't said that." The woman was damnably opaque.
"But to let her go off alone" –
"Mother, have you seen my mauve shawl?" Meg called from the drawing room.
Madame Giry gave Erik a small mysterious smile. "Everyone deserves a break, Erik. That's all that Meg is doing." She addressed her daughter, "I believe it's tucked away beneath your linens, dear…."
Erik could only flex his hands, unreasonably agitated.
When he offered to take her to the train station, alarm flashed briefly in her eyes. She blushed and made herself smile. "No, no, monsieur. I wouldn't hear of it. Pierre from the opera stables is taking me, I'll be fine."
Pure warmth radiating from her expression, she placed a light hand on his chest and she stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him once again, this time on his unblemished cheek (he was sure to wear his mask tonight).
He closed his eyes, almost crying at the soft feel of her lips on his wretched skin. This forever will be a foreign experience. I will never grow accustomed to it.
"Goodbye, Monsieur Erik. 'Hold the fort' for me while I'm away, as the Americans say."
She giggled with her usual sprightliness, cheeks dimpled.
Ever the graceful bird, she flew out the door.
Erik watched until the carriage pulled away.
Anahid watched him watching her daughter.
A/N: I've based Valérie Li's appearance on Mylène Jampanoï, an incredibly beautiful and talented French actress.
For Meg's new hairstyle, I took a little inspiration from Lucy's hair in Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd. That general style.
Speaking of Megs, I see Cecile as sort of the Meg March of the ballet girls: prim, ladylike, but headstrong and romantic. Just throwing that out there.